The Billionaire's Bodyguard Bride (3 page)

Lauren shot Stephanie a reassuring smile. “It’s going to be fine. Really. I’m immune to Rafe. I’m over him.”

“Nice try,” Stephanie chided gently. “But I’m not convinced. That little exchange out on the dance floor didn’t look like ‘over.’ I could feel the heat flaring between the two of you from my seat up in the nosebleed section of the balcony. Talk about chemistry!”

“Okay, so maybe the man still has the power to make me feel like I’m about to combust in the most amazing way,” Lauren admitted. “But it takes more than sensual fireworks to build a relationship. Besides, he despises me after what happened.”

If only she could truthfully say she felt the same about him. She wanted to hate Rafe for what he’d done to her, but she couldn’t seem to break the hold he had over her heart. It had belonged to him from the moment he’d saved her life.

Safe on the beach after he’d pulled her from the ocean, she’d looked up into his handsome face and promptly found herself drowning again. She’d been sucked into the mesmerizing depths of a pair of eyes the same stormy shade of blue as the turbulent waters he’d rescued her from.

Naïvely, she’d believed he felt the connection between them, too. She’d soon discovered that, for him, the attraction had been merely physical.

Anxious to avoid another run-in with Rafe, she hurriedly slipped into her jeans and blouse. “I don’t want to leave you shorthanded, but I’d like to call it a night if it’s okay with you. I’d rather not be around if he decides to come looking for me.”

“Of course, it’s fine. Go home and get some rest.”

Drifting peacefully off to sleep wasn’t an option. Her mind raced with a thousand thoughts a minute, all starring Rafe Dimitriou.

It was nearly daybreak when, worn out from tossing and turning, she finally succumbed to sleep. The blaring of her alarm clock woke her all too soon.

Thankfully it was Saturday. When she wasn’t on an assignment, weekends were hers to spend however she pleased. She loved the luxury of enjoying a leisurely breakfast before tackling household chores and running errands.

She tried to go about her normal routine but found it impossible to focus on anything other than Rafe’s unexpected reappearance in her life. Her thoughts kept detouring back to last night until she’d dissected the encounter a million times, exhausting herself both physically and emotionally.

After picking up groceries, Lauren made the short trip back to her beloved waterfront home. The gorgeous ocean view had been a key selling point when she’d purchased the house, but the deluxe bath with its mahogany-walled shower, sunken whirlpool tub, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the panoramic view had cinched the deal. She had filled the room with an assortment of lush greenery that flourished there despite her somewhat challenged green thumb.

She eyed the whirlpool bath longingly. She needed to shake the fatigue that had settled over her like an oppressive blanket so she could attempt to get a little perspective on last night’s unbelievable turn of events. A soothing soak would be heavenly, but she barely had time to squeeze in a quick shower before her meeting with Rafe.

Stripping off her clothes, she stepped under the warm spray and relaxed, letting the steam loosen the tension that knotted her neck and shoulders. She sponged her favorite jasmine-scented body wash over her skin, wishing she could rinse Rafe’s imprint from her soul along with the soapy lather.

Stepping from the shower and grabbing a fluffy towel, she paused for a moment in front of the mirror. Taking in her too-bright eyes and the faint flush of anticipation coloring her cheeks, she couldn’t deny that, despite her trepidation at seeing Rafe again, there was excitement fizzing through her veins as well. Though she’d convinced herself she was over him, seeing him again made her realize she’d never really regained control of her heart where he was concerned.

“Get a grip,” she admonished herself, wrapping the towel turban-style around her head. Draping a second towel around her slender frame, she padded over to her closet to find something to wear.

She was
so
not dressing up for him. But it couldn’t hurt to remind him of what he’d given up when he’d so coldly walked away from her, could it?

She settled for somewhere between indifferent and alluring, choosing an off-the-shoulder batik dress in a deep shade of plum that brought out the green in her eyes and caressed her curves. Slipping on a pair of high-heeled pumps and adding a delicate gold chain and matching earrings, she twisted her hair into a loose chignon. Satisfied with her appearance, she left the bedroom and snatched her purse and car keys off the kitchen sidebar. Change of plans, she determined. She’d drive herself to the restaurant. It was a far better option than being trapped in the confines of a vehicle with Rafe.

He’d made reservations at Armando’s, an exclusive Italian restaurant renowned for its world-class cuisine. He’d also told her where he was staying, so she phoned and left a message for him with the concierge to relay the change in their arrangements for the evening.

Her plan was shot to pieces when a low-slung, sexy black sports car purred up to the curb just as she was unlocking her car door.

Rafe stepped from his car, moonlight highlighting his features and revealing a masterpiece of hard lines and rugged angles. He’d paired a charcoal gray suit with a soft blue shirt, foregoing a tie in concession to the oppressive midsummer heat. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing an expanse of smooth, tanned skin. She had to tamp down the overwhelming urge to let her fingers explore the muscular silk-over-steel landscape of his chest.

He shot her an I-caught-you smile and her traitorous heart had the audacity to skip a beat.

“Going somewhere?” he drawled, amusement and a touch of latent danger evident in his smooth baritone.

Drat.
Lauren attempted an indifferent shrug. “I thought it would be easier if I took my own car. I’d rather meet you at the restaurant if it’s all the same to you.”

“We’re playing by my rules tonight,” he asserted. “Rule number one is you’ll allow me to drive. Shall we?”

She ignored the arm he offered, shooting him a look that could have frozen bubbling lava. “Just because I’ve agreed to meet with you doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you for the way you used me.”

“Used you? Now that’s an interesting perspective coming from the woman who muddied my father’s name for a byline.”

Okay, that one stung
. Lauren felt his verbal barb slice through her heart. She hadn’t set out to hurt his father; in fact it had been entirely the opposite. If he’d given her the opportunity to detail her side of the story, he would have understood why she’d had no choice but to do what she’d done. Instead he’d frozen her out, refusing to let her explain.

She’d been devastated to see the pain and shock on his face when he’d seen the article that had run in the evening edition of the newspaper with her byline. Tasked with deterring an assassination attempt against a high-ranking official in the Moroccan government, Sentinels had discovered that terrorists planned to carry out the hit while the man was a guest at a prominent Greek businessman’s private estate. The agency wouldn’t have been able to covertly protect him within the estate’s compound, and the host’s own security detail would have been no match for a professionally orchestrated attack.

Lauren’s job had been to photograph the Greek host, who was rumored to be involved in dealings with the Mafia, and to write a speculation piece suggesting the man’s activities might not be entirely aboveboard. The hope was that alluding to possible impropriety might spur the Moroccan official to cancel his planned visit. It was an election year, after all, and that kind of conjecture could ill be afforded.

The story had achieved the desired results, but not without collateral damage. Lauren’s heart had taken a direct hit. Though she hadn’t been aware of it when she snapped the photograph, Philip Dimitriou—Rafe’s father—had been one of the subjects in the picture. Rafe, convinced she’d deliberately set out to insinuate herself into his life in an attempt to undermine the Dimitriou family, had ousted her without a backward glance.

The article’s placement had been critical to the official’s security, but if Lauren could have retracted her story at that moment, she would have been tempted to.

Recalling the way Rafe had cast her aside without giving her a chance to utter a single word in her own defense made her blood boil. “That’s not true,” she refuted passionately. “But then you never gave me a chance to tell you my side of the story.”

Pinning her with a scathing glare, he opened the passenger door to see her seated. “I wasn’t interested then, and I’m not interested now. The time for explanations has long passed.”

Still seething, Lauren studied his profile while he drove. There were fine lines on his face that hadn’t been there two years ago, but oddly they only enhanced his handsome features.

She’d been captivated by his movie-star good looks from the moment she first laid eyes on him.

After he’d saved her from drowning, he insisted she accompany him to his villa so his personal physician could make certain she was none the worse for her close call. Once assured of her well-being, he urged her to stay for dinner. She readily agreed, eager for the opportunity to get to know him better.

His chef had prepared a veritable feast for them, and Rafe charmed her throughout the meal. Before the night was over she’d become a convert to the love-at-first-sight school of thought. Too bad she hadn’t realized Rafe didn’t share the same depth of feeling before she’d allowed his tender caresses and passionate kisses to lead to so much more.

“I don’t understand how you think you can walk back into my life out of the blue like this,” she challenged now. “You made it very clear you wanted nothing more to do with me when you left. What’s changed?”

“Circumstances have changed,” he responded curtly. “Circumstances that compel me to enlist your assistance. I’ll explain over dinner.”

He pulled the car up to the restaurant entrance and a valet rushed to greet them. Armando’s had garnered accolades for its culinary excellence, and under any other circumstances she would have looked forward to enjoying a meal here. Tonight her appetite was on strike.

The maître d’ escorted them to a corner table overlooking the peaceful harbor. The view was like something out of a fairy tale with scores of twinkling lights accenting the sheltered breakwater. The full moon hung fat over the bay, illuminating the scattering of yachts and small pleasure boats bobbing dockside.

Their table was exquisitely set, right down to the linen tablecloth and antique candelabra with its gently flickering candles. It would be all too easy, Lauren mused, to be drawn in by the romantic backdrop and lose sight of the fact that the man seated across from her was the same man who had callously cast aside the gift she’d given him of her body, heart, and soul.

The menu was an epicurean’s dream, presenting a mind-numbing selection of dishes. Their waiter arrived to collect their order, placing a loaf of fragrant stone-baked bread on the table. It wasn’t long before her appetite was revived by the delicious aromas emanating from the kitchen. She chose seafood lasagna while Rafe ordered steak carbonara and selected a vintage wine to complement both their choices.

It would be wise, Lauren determined, to set down some ground rules before his potent charm combined with the cozy atmosphere, wine, and gourmet delicacies weakened her resolve. If she allowed herself to be led by her heart rather than her head, he’d eat her alive tonight. It was time to counter that charisma with an offensive of her own.

“Just so we’re clear, this is not a date,” she asserted, her eyes alight with barely suppressed anger. “I’m only here because you forced me into this little tête-à-tête by insinuating that my refusal to meet with you could negatively impact my brother.”

The kitten had claws, Rafe was amused to find, as Lauren attempted to secure an advantage in their negotiations. “I haven’t forgotten why I invited you here,” he assured her, his voice laced with sarcasm. “If you don’t care to humor me by engaging in polite conversation, that’s your prerogative. But certainly we can enjoy a meal with some degree of civility before we discuss my proposal? As you pointed out earlier, I’m quite adept at mixing business with pleasure.”